Their Moment
by Lady Wolfy
Summary: "They might as well have been two inexperienced teenagers. Hell, they basically were. Carol stared at him, silently deciding. Then she remembered the dead outside their door, the death of the world they once knew - remembered they could be dead the next day." Daryl/Carol, some fluff, some angst.


Their Moment

_AU ish, set before they get to the prison. _

"_Hell is empty and all the devils are here_." -William Shakespeare

Another abandoned home, another night spent trying not to think about the absent family that had once lived there. Sometimes when they found new houses to hold up in, family portraits and pictures of small children on the walls would cause Carol to curl in on herself and spend the night fighting off her private ghosts. Other times though, the houses would be wiped clean of photos, and they would nod grimly and recall evacuating their own homes and snatching up every token of normalcy they could lay their hands on. Either way, they were always depressed by the vacant, ghostly places that they refused to outwardly speculate about. Carol especially was affected, especially when the empty homes held remnants of long-gone children. She saw Sophia in every young girl's face, saw Ed in every stern father's stare. For Carol, it was not the fear of walkers that constantly stayed with her and put her on edge. It was the absence of her daughter.

One particular incident was especially difficult for Carol, after she had gone in search of clothing in their latest hold-up and ended up in a pale pink room filled with toys. She had picked up a rag doll that laid on a frilly, embroidered pillow, her face scrunching up, and had collapsed onto the bed, choking back her sobs. Daryl had stepped in at that point and led her away, but she was already too far gone to care. The room could've belonged to Sophia, she thought desperately. She wondered if their own home had been looted, and felt sick.

She hated herself for being weak. She hated the looks that Lori shot her, the patronizing comments. She hated that they treated her like a time bomb - as if she was slowly becoming a walker, and any day they would have to put her down.

She spent the day doing laundry and gathering supplies with Maggie, barely speaking but still accepting the comforting smiles and hugs that Maggie continually offered her. Maggie was easier to be around than most others; she didn't constantly stare at her with questions in her eyes, and she didn't act as if Carol was some crazy old woman that she needed to get away from. She simply comforted, and talked.

When night came around and they all barricaded themselves in bedrooms, Carol found herself sitting in the kitchen and staring into the dark, imagining Sophia's earliest years. She remembered her toothless grins, the tight grasp of her soft, tiny baby hands, and the first time she had looked at Carol, pointed and gurgled "mama!" That would always be one of Carol's favorite memories. Daryl had taken the first shift - despite being in a house, Rick was still nervous about being found - and decided to walk in just as Carol's eyes began to water. She wasn't sure how long it had been since she'd sat down, wasn't sure how long she had been trapped in her own head.

"Guarding the cupboards?" Daryl's voice, sounding surprised, shattered Carol's fantasy. She looked up at him from her place at the kitchen table - in front of the cupboards - and grimaced at him delicately, wiping at her eyes hastily. His crossbow was hanging at his side as always, and when he put it on the floor and starting going through the cupboards, Carol felt her depressive state shrink back, replaced with curiosity. Daryl was always a welcomed distraction.

"I just have a lot on my mind is all. Looking for something?" Daryl glanced over his shoulder at her before reaching into the back of a cupboard and pulling out an eighth of whiskey. Carol blinked.

"Found it." Daryl fished out two dusty looking glasses and poured a bit of amber liquid in each before soundlessly handing one to Carol. She took it, defeated, and drank it down immediately, wincing. Daryl sat down next to her and watched her swallow before copying her actions.

"Never been much of a drinker," Carol admitted sheepishly, pouring more. "Should you really be doing this when it's your time to watch, though?"

"I'm not gonna get black-out drunk, jus' need something to take the edge off tonight. Maybe you need it a bit more, though," Daryl noted as Carol grimaced when she swallowed more.

"She's everywhere," Carol said as a way of explanation. "I feel like a useless slug, only being a burden to all of you. I'm just old fragile Carol, never earning my place, never being as strong as you and Rick. I'm not made for this world."

Daryl stared at her, face unreadable. She looked back at him, her eyes bright in the dark. In them he saw her brokenness, her finality, her defeat - and he felt sickened by it. In another time, gentle, loving Carol had been the epitome of purity. He knew privately that Carol's world had gone to shit much earlier than the entire world had gone to shit, and he felt irritated that an asshole like Ed Pelitier had to go ahead and ruin her. He also knew that Carol's whole world had been her daughter, and knew she would never fully recover from the loss of Sophia. Hell, Daryl knew _he_ would never recover from the loss of that little girl.

Those thoughts too caused need for another drink, but Daryl knew it was his last. He let Carol go ahead and drink as much as she needed, but even after she'd had several she still seemed pretty coherent. She was still sitting upright, her eyes only slightly clouded by the whiskey. He wondered if she was lying about not being much of a drinker.

"Daryl, did you lose anyone besides Merle?" Carol leaned back, squinting at him. She was a little sluggish, but didn't seem keen on drinking more. He shrugged his shoulders loosely in response. _Besides Sophia too, you mean?_ He thought sadly.

"Lost m'mom years ago. Other than 'er, not really. We Dixon boys have always been mos'ly loners." Carol touched his knee lightly, a touch that would have scared the shit out of Daryl sober, but because of the alcohol, he only felt warmed by it. "Ain't no big deal or nothing. She was a big smoker, and got a little careless. She was always a bi'careless." Carol nodded thoughtfully, still clutching her empty glass.

"Not my mother, she was always perfect, and expected the same of me." Carol moved her hand away and Daryl felt disappointed by the loss. "I was never perfect though. Too damn clumsy, too awkward, not nearly as pretty as Helen... I left home to get away and be myself, and fell right into the arms of Ed; you can guess the rest."

"You? Clumsy and awkward?" Daryl shook his head, eyes on his glass. So he had another name to fit into Carol's story. He toyed with the glass thoughtfully. "You're the most graceful woman I ever met." Carol chuckled, and they both went quiet. Daryl stood up to put the alcohol away, knowing that if someone spotted the alcohol they'd be pissed at Daryl for not sharing. He slipped back into his chair and scratched at the table in front of him.

"Did you - did you ever have a woman, Daryl?" Carol looked up at him then, and he straightened up in his chair and shook his head gruffly.

"Naw, not fer' years. Was too busy taking care of Merle and chasing off his hoards of pissed-off women." Daryl smiled when he saw that his comment had brought a grin on Carol's face, then he grew serious. "Don't know nothin' 'bout that stuff. Wouldn't be able to woo a woman if she were lying bare nude in front ta'me." Carol's face reddened, and she silently berated herself for being as prude as a young schoolgirl.

"You'd think I would know somethin', what with Ed, but..." Carol trailed off, shaking her head. "All I knew was what he told me to do. Except, he never wanted kids... that was all my doing." Carol shrugged, looking right into Daryl's eyes. "I'd like - I mean, well..." Carol stood up slowly, but stumbled over the chair in the process of moving away from the table. She'd almost forgotten she was a little drunk. How had they gone from swapping sob-stories to this? Carol blamed the alcohol, but she knew... knew she'd wanted Daryl Dixon for awhile now. Daryl stood up and immediately caught her arm clumsily, his eyes on her reddening face...

"What would ya like?" Daryl asked softly. Carol inhaled sharply as the hand that steadied her moved to rest on her back, and Daryl stared at her, transfixed. She felt her heart fluttering anxiously. _I should touch him_, she thought cluelessly. They might as well have been two inexperienced teenagers. Hell, they basically were. Carol stared at him, silently deciding. Then she remembered the dead outside their door, the death of the world they once knew - remembered they could be dead the next day.

"I'd like this..." Carol moved forward and pressed a single gentle kiss to Daryl's lips, ready to pull away if he was disgusted. If she'd misunderstood. He kissed back slightly, though, and his hands moved up to her shoulders, and she grasped on to one of his biceps. His tongue slipped between her lips and ran across the tip of her tongue, and she opened her mouth, moving closer, moving her lips against his in a way he couldn't remember experiencing before - he raked a hand through her hair, gasping into her mouth as her grip on him grew tighter. Her body was against his, and he was shoved against the table all of a sudden, Carol's arms wrapping around his neck, their lips moving, chapped but pleasantly warm, tongues tasting each other greedily -

"Hey Daryl, I'm here to - whoa!" Daryl and Carol sprang apart as if they'd been electrocuted, lips swollen as they both stared at Glenn, Daryl with slight irritation. Glenn smiled, looking somewhat awkward, somewhat satisfied. "Uhh... it's my turn to watch," Glenn supplied, squinting at the unsteady Carol. Daryl moved forward and put a hand on her shoulder.

"Not a word of this to Rick," Daryl muttered, guiding Carol out of the kitchen. Glenn nodded quickly.

"Sure, you bet!" he mumbled. "Sleep... sleep well, guys."

The tipsy pair then proceeded to crash on a couch in the next room over together, their limbs tangling together comfortably as they shared one more kiss, then two, before falling asleep all at once. While the dead walked the earth, while the ashes of what their world once was settled around them, Daryl and Carol could say that while they laid on that couch, they were at least sharing a moment, having _their moment_, before everything went black again.

**This is more or less just a mess of feels, but I hope some of you enjoyed it :) **

**-LW**


End file.
